


the mess we become

by PaddyWack



Category: Assassin's Creed, Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyWack/pseuds/PaddyWack
Summary: Alex is mute.The shadows in the woods finally come to play.





	1. Chapter 1

_-i-_ __

He isn’t sure when he realized they were there. He isn’t sure, because as far as he can remember, they have always been there. Always haunting the woods behind his school, or following him home, hiding just out of sight. He knew they were there, though. He could feel them – silent shadows stalking behind the trees. Watching. Waiting.

 

As a child their constant presence had been a balm against the ache of having to be moved around so much. He missed his mother terribly, but even at that age he could understand that a broken home was no place for two starving children. The state took his sister and himself away, but they couldn’t take away the quiet watchers outside. They followed, patiently drifting along like ghosts on the wind, never fully visible but still there, somewhere. No matter where he was moved, they dutifully followed like dark guardians watching over him.

 

They were there when he finally went off to college, even when he graduated and moved to a new city. They were there for his mother’s funeral, for Dana’s missing person’s announcement, and, later, they were there for Dana’s own unexpected funeral. He remembers watching the empty casket being lowered into the ground, resigned of the fact that there would be no closure for a five year old cold case, and there – just there, slinking between the headstones at the edge of the graveyard. The flash of golden eyes disappearing behind a weeping angel.

 

He never thought of their appearance as abnormal. Certainly, he realized them as being an odd presence, but the whole thing remained as just another strange occurrence in a life filled with abnormalities. What was one more to the list?

 

It never even occurred to him to try and make contact. He has survived his entire life alone, shunned from society for being unfortunate enough to be labeled as different. He is used to being on his own.

 

Until now.

 

He is standing at the edge of his yard, staring into the woods. Shadows flit in and out of focus, fluttering about like moth wings catching the light. He can hear them breathing. One more step and he will be past that invisible line that separates his world from theirs. One step, and he can leave it all behind.

 

He has questions that burn his throat, yet no voice to ask them with. It has been over twenty years since he last spoke. Strangely, he feels as if he could speak if he could just take that last step and face the ones who have followed him since birth.

 

The world is void of any sound. They are holding their breath now, anticipation thick in the air.

 

A whisper. He hears his name on a whisper.

 

“ _Alex._ ”

 

His body twitches forward. The shadows become even more agitated. That pleading voice calls his name again, a siren’s song to a part of himself he hadn’t known existed.

 

_“Alex, please. Come to me.”_

 

His mouth falls open for words that don’t exist. His body feels hot even though he begins to shake from the cold December night. He wants to move forward but he is frozen in place, waiting for something to happen, though he isn’t sure what exactly that may be.

 

And then it does happen. The spell is broken.

 

A man steps from the shadows, naked and cut from sunlight. His eyes are a brilliant gold and he looks at Alex with an expression of pure longing.

 

_“Please,”_ he says, and his voice sounds like broken bells.

 

Alex steps over the line and into the woods.

 

_-ii-_

Alex wakes the next morning alone. He is lying on his back with the trees swaying dizzily overhead. He’s so cold his chattering teeth feel as if they are seconds away from cracking against each other. When he sits up, he finally notices the frenzy of disturbed snow that had surrounded his body. There are paw prints everywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

_-i-_

It takes most of the morning to make his way back home, and by the time Alex stumbles within view of his yard, the sun is nearly overhead and warming the back of his neck. He lurches to a dead stop at the edge of the woods just as he had done the night before. Only this time he’s on the opposite side looking at a life he had broken free from.

 

He stands still. The only sounds he can hear are his own uneven breaths and the faint twining of the wind chime on the porch. They hadn’t followed him. Or they are so silent he can’t sense their presence. He tries not to let it bother him, although the panic is cold and as swift as a blade through his chest.

 

Swallowing, he turns to look back over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse. Had they abandoned him? Had they found him wanting? After all this time, had they finally seen him undeserving of the absolution he had sought from their unveiling? He grips his shirt in a tight fist over his chest as he searches the trees behind him, breath hitching faster at the unwanted fears. He can feel his heart pounding like a drum behind his ribs.

 

Just as he feels the back of his skull buzzing with static and his vision begin to blur, they appear. Suddenly, as if a mist has cleared, he can see them. He can see _him_. Golden eyes burn like hot embers from between the trees and stare at him with eternal patience. He half turns in an aborted attempt to go back, to make the dream alive again, but a slight shake of the creature’s head has him stopping short.

 

He grips his shirt tighter in a subconscious attempt to tear it away, and his jaw aches from clenching his teeth too hard. _Why_ , he asks, voiceless, mouth moving over the word with frustrated yearning. Why do you not want me anymore? What have I done wrong? But the creature only stares silently back, and Alex can do nothing but wait helplessly for _something._

 

Finally, the creature moves. He lowers himself to the ground and, absurdly, crosses his paws. Alex feels himself breathe a little easier at the relaxed posture, taking it to mean, correctly, that they will not leave him just yet. He watches the others lie down as well, each giving him an expectant and meaningful look in turn. They are waiting once more, waiting and watching over him until the time comes for their vigil to end.

 

He wants to ask what happens then, when it’s over, but a part of him is too afraid of the answer. He looks once more to those beautiful yellow eyes and recognizes the promise hidden in that too-knowing gaze. He remembers the voice that had assured him again and again under the cover of night that there was something _more_ waiting for him, that he need only be patient.

 

The creature rests his great head on his paws and lets his eyes fall nearly closed. He watches Alex with a look full of warmth and contentment, and the heat spreads like honey through his chest to his fingertips down to his toes. The others flick their ears back and forth, scent the air in his direction, or give lazy waves of their tails – all reassuring in their own way that they will be there when he returns.

 

Because he will return. This night and every night after, until that promise of something more comes to pass. Until he can finally join them as he so desperately wishes to. With a quiet sigh he nods and turns back to his house, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. He can be patient, he thinks. He can pretend to be patient until this dreadful wait is over.

 

_-ii-_

 

The days are agonizingly long and the nights heartbreakingly short. Every day Alex finds himself pacing from one end of his house to the other, chewing his thumbnail and watching the windows with growing anticipation. Every evening he waits at his back door for the call of a sweet harmony rising and falling with the wind, beckoning him into the cover of the trees.

 

He responds to the call by throwing himself over the line and into the circle of warmth that waits for him on the other side. They push against him, pressing their bodies into his and licking his wrists and neck when he kneels down into their midst. Every night is the same. They mark him with their scent, smothering away the remains of human smell that cling to his skin and leave behind something distinctly wild and untamed.

 

Alex learns quickly to stay still until they finish, to not let his excitement get the best of him and rush forward. He waits for _his_ beast to step before him, for those golden eyes to dance with elation upon meeting his gaze, and for that beautiful head to bump against his own and release him into the night.

 

He can’t explain the change that has taken place the past few weeks. Not only in his connection with the creatures (he isn’t sure what to call them – too large to be considered normal wolves, too animal to be thought of as human) outside, but something inside himself has changed as well. He feels feverish during the day, burning up with impatience and need, sick to his stomach from having to wait for the sun to fall. If he had a voice, he would use it to scream at the walls of his bedroom, to curse the morning and beg for eternal night.

 

Only once did he ever try to find them during the day. Once. The resulting flurry of panicked snarls and snapping teeth driving him away, and the flash of fur as they disappeared over the hill and out of sight, convinced Alex that only under the cover of night could he run with his wolves. He was able to quickly realize the reason why on his own, and apologized in his own silent way the following evening for compromising their existence to the outside world.

 

Each night he spends hours bounding through the trees, breathlessly running and rolling and jumping over creek beds, fallen logs, soft beds of moss and mounds of snow. The cold air is crisp in his lungs and stings his eyes. He should be freezing, yet he feels only the heat of the bodies surrounding him, racing with him, taking him places he’d only ever dreamt of.

 

Every night is as unbelievable and mind blowing as the first, and Alex feels himself slipping further and further away from the life he thought he knew.

 

_-iii-_

 

It’s been months since Alex first ran with the wolves. He’s watching the sun creep up from behind the horizon, painting everything in that soft blue of predawn. Beside him, the golden eyed wolf follows his gaze and lets out a quiet sigh. Morning. Alex will have to leave soon.

 

The others stir from their resting places. One blonde female, smaller than the others and the only one with a curly tail, stands and stretches expectantly. Next to her, one of the darker males yawns and gets to his feet as well. One by one, the others stand and lazily wander near enough to press their noses into Alex’s throat, snuffling their goodbyes into his skin.

 

He swallows and tightens his fingers in the fur of the yellow eyed wolf, loosening his grip only when the great body presses closer in response. He doesn’t want to leave, he isn’t ready. He never is.

 

Alex stares after them as they fade into the trees, leaving behind only himself and the beautiful beast lying at his side. After a moment he feels those golden eyes on him, and he returns the look with one of anxious frustration. How do they expect him to keep on like nothing is different? How is he supposed to live a normal life after this long being with them?

 

The wolf lets out a soft whine, as if he’s apologizing for Alex being upset.

 

Alex rolls his eyes and scoffs silently. It’s still dark when he finally gets to his feet and turns toward home, the wolf a silent shadow at his side. Every step drags through the snow, wishing as always that he could simply turn around and stay forever.

 

They wander through familiar paths in silence, broken only by the crack of twigs or the swish of bushes as they pass. As they near Alex’s house, the trees begin to thin out and the ground become more even. Alex feels his heart sink in his chest as the soft glow of his porch light comes into view.

 

He stops at the edge just like every night before and waits for the sun to rise completely. He doesn’t watch the wolf because he hates seeing him walk away. Instead, Alex focuses his eyes on the distant skyline and watches the sun rise higher. When the night is finally gone, he drops his chin against his chest and groans low in his throat, a pained and raw sound that he can’t keep silent.

 

The warmth that had come from the wolf at his side is gone. He doesn’t need to look to know that those yellow eyes have disappeared until nightfall. With a silent sigh, he makes his way back to the house.

 

_-iv-_

 

_Good Morning,_

 

_I hope this email finds you well. It has come to my attention that the past six weeks you have failed to properly log the appropriate amount of hours needed for your timecard. It has also been noted that a great deal of your lab reports have not been resubmitted. Currently, you are missing twelve cards and three revisions._

 

_If our offices do not receive the above mentioned reports, then I regret to say that you may need to seek other avenues of employment, seeing as how these reports are time sensitive and vital to our clients’ wellbeing._

 

_Wishing you a wonderful rest of the day,_

 

_Sincerely,_

 

_Dr. Jane E. Morrison_

 

Alex grimaces and closes his laptop with a click. He isn’t particularly worried by the threat. Having to let go of something as tedious and mind numbing as transcribing lab reports isn’t exactly what he would consider life altering. With a dismissive eye roll, he gets up from his office chair and moves to the sliding French doors that lead to the back porch.

 

He feels the familiar longing in his gut, now a constant dulled ache, to step outside and make his way into the woods. A smaller part of himself, easily ignored and frequently is, tries to make sense of the wolves and nightly visits by pinning it on a delusional mindset developed after years of self-inflicted isolation and mutism.

 

Maybe if he had someone, anyone, in the real world that could tether him to rational thinking he would be able to discern his nights as elaborate fantasies made up as a child and carried into adulthood. Maybe if his mother was still alive, or Dana hadn’t disappeared, they could do that for him and he could go back to his desk and keep working like a functioning member of society. He could write off the last couple of months as a psychotic episode and get help – because, really, what kind of person believes in Hollywood monsters?

 

Alex grits his teeth in frustration. Of course he doubts his sanity, but it all feels so _real._ And hadn’t they been there his whole life? He _remembers_ them. Could he really be so crazy as to imagine the existence of fantastical creatures from the moment he was born? Then again, his mother had been a crack addicted junkie. Experiencing residual effects from her damaged body wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

 

But once more he thinks, for this many years?

 

With an agitated sound, Alex scrubs his face with his palms and moves away from the doors. It’s only mid-afternoon and even though the sun is covered by darkened clouds swollen with rain, it is still too early to even think about trying to jumpstart the night. He makes his way to the worn leather couch and collapses on it in an exhausted heap, and, frowning, tries to force himself to sleep.

 

It’s useless of course, but he stubbornly keeps his eyes squeezed shut anyway in the hopes that he can make himself sleep by sheer force of will, and make the day pass faster. By some miracle it actually seems to work, and within an hour he is soundly asleep with the slightest of frowns on his face.

 

_-v-_

 

He isn’t sure how much time has passed by the time he feels himself waking. He feels sluggish and groggy in a way that only naps can make you feel. Blearily, he rubs his eyes and sits up with a jaw popping yawn – and nearly jumps out of his skin when someone chuckles from the other side of the room.

 

Alex flinches hard and whips his head around, fully awake now. A man is sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, a hood pulled up and hiding his face. Alex makes a strangled sound and wildly gets to his feet. He isn’t sure if he should run or try to defend himself, or should he find his phone and call 911?

 

“Alex, it ‘s okay.”

 

He freezes. The man smiles gently and reaches up to push off the offending hood, exposing sun-warmed skin and glowing eyes. Alex stares back dumbly. He’d only ever seen this side of his wolf the one time, the first time, he ever followed him into the woods. He had been breathtaking then – now, with months between them, Alex is floored.

 

The man grins wider and gets to his feet, holding his hands palms out as if he’s afraid of spooking Alex into running. “I’m sorry,” he says, quietly. “I should’ve waited until later but I didn’t want the others around.”

 

A million thoughts fly through Alex’s head. Why is he here, it’s still light out, he looks different in clothes (that last thought causes Alex’s face to heat up with embarrassment), why is he human, is he coming to finally say goodbye?

 

Everything grinds to a halt, and Alex stares in growing horror at the man before him. This is what they have been waiting for, what Alex was told to be patient for. They’re finally leaving.

 

He knows he must look ridiculous, standing there with his hands clenching and unclenching as the fear grows, reeking of anxious frustration. He can hear his own breathing become ragged. They can’t leave him – not after showing him what it’s like to be with them. Not after showing him that he isn’t alone after all.

 

But how to make them stay? How to make _him_ stay?

 

The strange man blinks, catching the scent coming off Alex in waves, and then suddenly he is there crowding against Alex and pushing him back into the wall. Alex grunts, raises his hands to…what? He isn’t sure. Push away or pull closer? He drops them again like lead.

 

“You can’t believe – no, it isn’t like that. Look at me, _look_ at me.” Alex locks eyes with those golden sparks and it feels as if he’s buzzing from the inside with electricity. “I’m not leaving. We’re not going anywhere. Okay?”

 

Hot hands are gripping his face, holding him still, preventing him from escaping. The wall is a solid barrier at his back. His pulse kicks up a few notches at being so completely trapped, and while a part of him has been starving for just this kind of encounter, another part wants to tear away and get some space. He doesn’t know this man, not like he knows the wolf. He may smell of pine needles and cold dirt, but he is completely, irrevocably, human – or at least appears as one.

 

Alex squeezes his eyes shut and nods, struggling to keep still and stay calm. He feels the man drop his forehead against his own, feels him sigh against his mouth.

 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m doing this all wrong. Lucy was right, it would have been easier on you if we did this later.”

 

Alex feels jumpy and chaotic, as if he’s a live wire inches away from a puddle of water. Unconsciously, he makes a distressed humming sound low in his throat, and sags in relief when the man finally releases him and backs away a few steps. He looks rightly abashed, and Alex watches him tuck his hands into the pockets of the coldweather vest he’s wearing over of the hooded jacket.

 

“It’s hard remembering how to act normal, you know,” he explains. “I forget about personal space when I’m…when I’m like this again.”

 

Alex nods, wryly agreeing.

 

“My name is Desmond.” His mouth screws up like he’s tasted something unpleasant. “It feels weird telling you that. After all this time I guess I just assumed you would know everything about me.” He stares across at Alex with honey gold eyes, chewing the inside of his cheek pensively. After a moment, he gestures to the couch where Alex had previously been sleeping and says, “Can you sit? I think it’s about time we finally talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of just flying by the seat of my pants on this one. Sorry if it seems choppy, slow-going or generally confusing :( I still hope you're enjoying it.


	3. Chapter 3

_-i-_

Alex never knew his father. He never bothered to ask. His mother never mentioned him and, honestly, nine times out of ten she was too coked out of her mind to formulate a coherent answer anyway, so it wasn’t an issue. Dana, on the other hand, had been a different story.

 

He can remember when they were little and still living with their mom how Dana would make up elaborate stories about who their dad really was. There were the normal run of the mill children fantasies like Superman or some other hero in disguise, but more often than not, as she got older, she stuck with the theory that their dad was actually a soldier who had died overseas.

 

He could tell she fell in love with the idea by the way she wore an old army jacket throughout high school, and scoured the internet on anything pertaining to military history, politics, or rank structure. Alex never asked why she cared so much, because _he_ didn’t care at all.

 

Though, as he sits in his living room listening to Desmond, he thinks maybe he should have taken an interest. Or, at the very least, indulged Dana just a little bit when she tried talking to him about it.

 

“I know it’s difficult to understand,” Desmond says apologetically. “I wish it could’ve been easier for you. Things just got…complicated. Nobody really knew how to bridge the gaps, and by the time we recovered they had already taken you away from us.”

 

Alex looks down at his hands. They’re clenched into tight fists and his knuckles are stark white, straining against the skin. Slowly, he shakes his head in disbelief. It’s all too incredible, too bizarre, to be real. Accepting the wolves had been one thing, and Alex is still not convinced their existence isn’t actually the workings of his own twisted mind. What he’s being asked to accept now is something else entirely.

 

After a long quiet moment, Desmond reaches out and touches Alex’s hand with the tips of his fingers. His troubled face makes Alex feel a little better in a vindictive sort of way, but it does nothing to quell the rising tide of confusion and anger roiling in his belly.

 

“Your dad was a good man, Alex.” Alex narrows his eyes in warning and Desmond stares stolidly back. “Your mom, too. They were both good people.”

 

Good people. Good people don’t kill each other, don’t put their children in the line of fire, and certainly don’t keep a life secret their children were meant to have. They don’t hide an entire existence as if never acknowledging it would make it disappear. Alex feels cheated. He glares down at his feet and resents all the years he was forced to live in the dark.

 

“There’s something else,” Desmond says apologetically, and Alex gives him the most exasperated look he can muster. What ‘else’ could their possibly be when someone tells you that both of your parents were actual mythological creatures from conflicting mythological packs, and that their internal mythological political struggles resulted in tearing apart said packs, separating your parents in a Romeo and Juliet-esque fashion, only to exile them both into a life of heartache and struggle, abandoned, with two infants and no discernible way to survive?

 

Alex has lived his entire life believing his mother hadn’t cared about Dana or himself in the slightest, that she craved her addiction more than she could ever crave her children. He can barely fathom the truth, or what Desmond claims is the truth – that his parents actually _had_ loved them, _had_ cared for them. Only, trying to survive in a city without a pack’s protection, trying to make it as lone wolves, left them vulnerable to attacks from other, more vicious packs. They never stood a chance.

 

Alex shakes his head and shifts to the edge of the couch, moving to get up. He doesn’t think he can hear anymore of this. He can’t even make sense of it. If his parents had been wolves, then why isn’t he? Why hadn’t Dana been? If their family was supposed to be part of some kind of clan, then where have they been his entire life? And how the _hell_ is he supposed to accept that the whole world is full of territorial werewolves hiding in the dark, and not just the few skulking around in his back yard?

 

“Wait, Alex,” Desmond grabs his wrist and Alex very nearly yanks it back. “Please?”

 

He grinds his teeth audibly but doesn’t move away, and Desmond gives him a heartbreakingly grateful look for staying.

 

“We have Dana.” Alex’s eyes widen a fraction and Desmond releases his wrist. “She came to us a few years ago. She said your mom kept a diary about – everything. Your dad. The pack. All of it. She wanted to come with us and we couldn’t say no. We’d been watching you both for so long hoping you would come find us…” Alex stops listening at some point, head filling with a curious buzzing sound.

 

Dana is alive. The realization should make him happy. He should be relieved to know she’s safe and not rotting in some half-assed grave in the middle of nowhere thanks to some psycho serial killer. And he is. Relieved, that is. And happy. If in a detached sort of way. He had not been particularly close to his sister (or anyone for that matter) and while he’s glad that she’s alright, it doesn’t go any deeper than that.

 

More than anything he feels a growing sense of bewildered curiosity. If Dana had managed to discover the wolves, did that mean…?

 

He glances out the nearest window facing the woods, and stares. Was she out there? Had she managed to figure it all out – become one of them? Was it even possible for the two of them, shunned and cut from the pack as they were?

 

His eyes snap back to Desmond’s face, bright and demanding, and he feels the breath catch in his throat as Desmond gives the barest of nods.

 

“It didn’t take her long to figure out the change.”

 

So she’s one of them, after all. A wolf. A wild thing running in the woods behind his house, taunting promises and secrets he can barely manage to wrap his head around. It didn’t take long? Alex shakes his head in disbelief. But _how?_

 

Desmond reaches out and holds his wrist again, and Alex finds himself looking down at the long, tapered fingers with something close to awe as he tries to imagine the animal beneath. He wonders what it feels like to be something else, if it’s painless or excruciating to have your bones shift and crack into a new shape. Does it happen in an instant, or do you endure an eternity of agony waiting for it to happen?

 

Distantly, Alex has the bitter thought that he’s already waited long enough and, if it were possible, he would want it to be over quickly.

 

“We’ve watched you for so long, Alex. We’ve waited years, hoping you would figure it out and come find us.” Desmond’s gaze is warm and Alex wants to lean closer, chase the flame in those eyes and capture the heat. “But your mother’s pack was watching too. They kept us from getting too close. I think they were waiting to see if you and Dana could change.”

 

His face grows dark and the grip on Alex’s wrist disappears. “They considered the two of you abominations,” he continues, standing. “They can trace their lineage back for generations of pure, untainted breeding. They pride themselves on that, on their numbers and their power. Your father’s pack...my pack…they aren’t so concerned about pedigrees. We only care about protecting each other. We work as a unit to survive. After all, there aren’t that many of our kind left.”

 

Alex eyes him with suspicion. If his mother’s pack thought of himself and Dana as abominations and stains on their precious family tree, then why hadn’t they gotten rid of the taint already? And if Desmond’s pack was so liberal and accepting, why had they driven his father into exile and his eventual mugging-cum-murder without any remorse in the first place? They certainly haven’t made any effort to rectify the sentencing over the years, and Alex isn’t too keen on accepting that the silent guard he’s been granted since childhood counts as any form of an apology.

 

Desmond is chewing the inside of his cheek and giving Alex a guarded look. “Things were different back then,” he says slowly, as if he can hear the accusations in Alex’s silence, and chooses to pick his words carefully. “Leadership was different. It could be unforgiving sometimes. There are no excuses for what happened to your parents and it wasn’t right. But there’s nothing any of us can do to take it back. Besides,” he shrugs, the line of his shoulders tense and uncomfortable. “We have new leadership now.”

 

Alex picks up on the ominous tone in Desmond’s words and gives him a sharp, calculating look, wishing he would elaborate. More than that, he wishes he could make sense of this fantasy so he could stop feeling as if he were fumbling around in the dark seeking enlightenment.

 

He gestures at himself wordlessly, frustrated, and gets up to stand near the window next to Desmond. Evening darkens the world outside into soft rose pink, shot through with deep purple and burning orange. He feels himself shiver with anticipation. The night is waiting.

 

“We think they gave up on you,” Desmond says earnestly, as if he too is being affected by the growing darkness. “We’ve watched their guard go lax over the last few years. Lately, it’s like they’ve withdrawn completely.”

 

From the woods, a deep, sonorous howl rises like a swell of velvet and draws Alex’s wide-eyed gaze to the window. He feels Desmond grip his upper arm, feels the heat from the skin on skin contact. He wonders which one it had been – which one of his wolves is calling? Was it Dana? Could they sense that his world had shifted, yet again, and that he was staggering for balance amid these tumultuous confessions?

 

“Alex.”

 

And, oh, but those eyes are going to be the death of him, he knows. Desmond watches him through a wolf’s stare; golden embers smoldering in a face touched by the sun’s glow. Alex feels his chest stutter like a frightened bird’s wings beating helplessly against the cage of his ribs. A part of him can see the dangerous predator hiding beneath the human skin before him, can recognize the prey instinct jittering underneath his own, but rather than wishing to flee, he yearns to dive deep into that captivating unknown and let it swallow him whole.

 

“Alex, they don’t care about you anymore. They think Dana is dead, they think you’re human.” Desmond grips both of his arms, and they are standing so close that Alex wonders if he can feel the pounding of his heart drumming painfully through his chest.

 

And then he says…

 

Something.

 

It doesn’t seem to make sense, what happens after. One moment he is shaking with desperation to be outside, impatience searing an actual live fever through his veins. The same fever that seems to have been burning his blood for months, simmering and impatient.

 

Only now it feels worse, like a dam has broken and his body feels like it’s suddenly on fire.

 

Why is it so hard to breathe?

 

And then, as if Desmond’s words were the release he’d been waiting for all this time, everything changes.

 

“You’re _free._ ”

 

The floor cracks. The walls crumble.

 

The world – stops.

 

Alex wonders if this is what it feels like to die.

 

And then to be reborn.

 

There is a roaring like a mighty waterfall, and the force of it slams through his head on a crack of exploding thunder. He hears Desmond yelling. He falls to his hands and knees as the world spins, dips, heaves, and is pulled apart at the very seams. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until his throat suddenly closes up and he’s left choking, gagging on the taste of blood.

 

The last thing he sees before he crashes to the floor is the color of whiskey sunlight.

 

 

_-ii-_

 

The forest is as a living creature that sighs in rapture, pleased to have one of her children returning to the fold. The wind combs through the branches like gentle fingers and hisses against the leaves, whispering soft endearments to the creatures gathered beneath her canopy. The night is pregnant with anticipation. Everything seems to be waiting and watching, eager for the gift of ancient lore to awaken after lying dormant in such an unfortunate soul for so long.

 

Alex opens his eyes slowly.

 

He comes to awareness sluggish and disoriented. His head feels as if it is full of cotton, and he struggles to blink away the fuzziness clouding his vision. A sharp pain lances through his skull and he squeezes his eyes shut again with a heavy grunt.

 

His entire body aches as if he’s been beaten to within an inch of his life. He grunts again, only to have it drag out into a painful moan as he tries to pull himself upright. Everything is overly bright, though he has an odd sense that the hour is extremely late, like he has lost a lot of time.

 

The realization strikes a sense of panic at first, but then is oddly quieted, as if his subconscious takes the reigns and softly reassures him that all is well. Alex stares without seeing as he tries to process this new sensation. It feels as if everything, his aches and pains, his fear, have all been dwindled to nothing because they are not important. What is important is the fact that he’s hungry. He wants to eat, and then he wants to stretch the cramps from his sore muscles.

 

It doesn’t take him very long to realize that what he’s experiencing is nothing but base instinct. Simple, pure instinct. The world has shrunken into what is immediately happening, what he can feel and process only in this moment. He blinks and stares at nothing, calm despite the fact that when he looks down at himself his hands are blunt, rounded paws covered in coarse, dark fur, and his body has been reshaped into that of lean adult wolf.

 

He has enough self awareness to understand what has happened. Yet the fear and awe he knows should be quickly following that understanding are nonexistent, absent in the overruling animal knowledge that of course this has happened, this is the way of things, and there is nothing strange about that.

 

A quiet, thin whine breaks him from his thoughts.

 

He knows without having to think about it that the large, golden-eyed wolf staring intently back at him is Desmond, and that the others padding silently closer are the ones who have been there with him all along. Briefly, he wonders how old they could possibly be since every memory he has of them has been just like this, as they are now.

 

One of the wolves catches his eye and lets her tongue loll out, flashing him a wolfish grin. She’s tall and dark furred, with catty blue eyes that dance with amusement. Dana. His sister huffs and shakes out her fur, somehow managing to look exasperated with him for taking so long to join them.

 

The others seem to relax and press in close, licking and rubbing and scent marking him like they’ve done so many times before, and he feels every cell in his body sing with relief and elation. He feels like he’s finally come home. He doesn’t know their names, but he knows _them_ , knows every inch of them like his own body, and he isn’t afraid to press his own muzzle into their fur, push closer, and revel in their familiar heat.

 

When they finish, Desmond comes close and rests their heads together like always, and Alex feels his heart stutter and nearly stop from being able to meet those devastating wolf eyes with his own. Something inside locks in place, the final piece of this emotional, mentally exhausting rollercoaster. Desmond lets his eyes slide shut, and Alex hears him sigh, as if he has felt it too. This completion. This final chapter coming to an end.

 

When he opens them again, Alex watches him step back and turn toward the heart of the forest. The others fall in behind, and Alex wonders if this is what Desmond meant when he had said ‘new leadership’.

 

Desmond waits for Alex to take his place by his side before they all move as one body, a single unit flitting silently through the trees, as fluid and constant like nothing he has ever experienced before. He feels his new muscles stretch and contract and his nose is filled with the first hint of Spring. The world is coming alive around him after being asleep for so many years.

 

A new beginning. A new chapter.

 

They run to what seems like the edge of the world, and when their voices rise as one swelling note to be carried off by the wind, Alex raises his own to match their sweet, wild song.


End file.
